


Metamorphosis

by wisia



Category: DCU
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angst, Body Modification, Dubious Consent, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Gender Issues, M/M, Panic Attacks, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 19
Words: 13,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisia/pseuds/wisia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ra's chooses another way to obtain a heir from Tim.</p><p>[New on chapter 19]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because this idea wouldn’t leave me alone, and I wanted to write something...well, yeah. And thank Jcolney for looking this over. Such a wonderful, awesome person~ Let me know how it sounds, if you like it or not, characterization and stuff. I hope you enjoy reading.

**  
**

         Tim groaned. His head was splintering into pieces from the hit that knocked him out, but he forced himself to crack his eyes open. He was blessed by the lack of overtly bright lights although the situation left little to be desired. He had returned to a version of his boy hostage days, and Tim berated himself for getting caught in the first place. That was inexcusable.

           The room was small. There was enough light that Tim could see he was in a lab of some sort. A highly sophisticated one for its size as well. Shelves of vials and all sorts of expensive scientific equipment lined the walls. There was, unfortunately, only one entrance. And Tim was bound to a metal table. Naked.

            He shivered as the chilly air cut through his headache and brought him to full alertness. The bands holding him down were tight and sturdy. And the only possible way Tim could foresee of getting out of them was to dislocate a few joints and pray he could slip out of them. He braced himself with a deep breath even as the throbbing in the back of his head twinge in protest. But before he could dislocate anything, footsteps sounded with the opening of the lone door, and a smooth baritone voice addressed him.

             “Detective,” Ra’s al Ghul half purred. “I hope you have enjoyed your nap. You slept longer than I assumed you would.”

            The words sank in heavily, colliding in Tim’s stomach as he tried to remain calm and act as if he wasn't captured by a revenge swearing villain.

           “Ra’s,” he hissed out, the latter part of the sound stretching angrily. Okay, not so calm. “What do you want?”

          Tim quickly ran through everything he knew about the villain. Twice. Ra’s closed the door with a soft click, locking it, and leisurely crossed the room, a pleased smile forming on his features. Tim had the sudden, unexpected violent urge to rip it off, but he gave into tensing instead as Ra’s bent down, hovering over Tim. Ra’s’ face was smug, uncanny and eerie.

         “It is very simple,” Ra’s said. “Would you care to guess?”

          Tim glared at him, mind racing through various reasons and scenarios.

           “No.”

          He flinched as Ra’s ran a finger down his cheek to the jawline, sharp nail scrapping.

         “You are very amusing,” Ra’s commented. Tim turned his head away from the finger in disgust. “Though I do object to your singular attack on my league. You have  _embarrassed_  me.”

           Tim gritted his teeth as Ra’s recaptured his jaw, lightly stroking and undeterred. He shifted his head, biting down hard when the fingers neared his mouth. Ra’s retrieved his fingers with a slight effort, and Tim was satisfied by the bleeding, the coppery taste lingering on his tongue.

          “You want revenge,” and Tim was smiling with the blood on his lips. It only seemed to entice Ra’s because the elder man laughed, cold amusement decorating the sound. Ra’s removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood on his fingers, stalling the lacerations.

           “You are truly highly amusing,” Ra’s murmured, and he folded his handkerchief to a clean square. Tim was surprised as Ra’s wiped the blood off his lips and chin. “I did think of revenge, but it would be a shame, especially as _you have passed all my tests_.”

            His eyes roamed across Tim’s form, and Tim suppressed the urge to curl up as he considered Ra’s’ words. Tests. Was something compromised? His mind only turned up blanks.

           A smirk tugged at the corners of Ra’s’ mouth. “You may ask, Detective. I promise to answer. I intend for you to know in any case.”

          “ _What tests?_ ” Tim asked testily, giving in. He had the distinct impression he was playing into Ra’s’ hand blindly, but the current route was the best option as it was.

          “I am in need of an heir,” Ra’s informed him, eyes sharp and predatory. They traversed Tim’s skin a second time in a slippery study of angles, scars and pale flesh. Tim couldn’t hide the goosebumps spiking on his skin, a slow fear settling in, as Ra’s drew out his next words. “I would have one of mine take your seed, but…I found that to be  _an utter waste_. Completely unreliable as well. It would not do to have waste where  _you_  are concerned.”

         And Ra’s forced Tim to look at him, fingers firm on Tim’s jaw to keep from a second biting. He lowered his face closer to Tim’s. “Are you aware of just how  _fair and white_  your skin is?  _Detective_?”

        His breath coasted into a whisper into Tim’s ear, and Tim jerked, head smacking the metal bed. A groan fell out of his lips at the further aggravation of the likely concussion he had, and Ra’s slid his other hand into Tim’s hair. Tim’s fear shot up exponentially at the action.

         Ra’s wanted him.  _In that manner._

         “Careful,” Ra’s hummed softly, fingers teasing the hair at Tim's nape. “It would not do to have you injured.”

          “You’re sick,” Tim spat out, unable to control the hammering in his chest. He wriggled, back pressing into the cold surface beneath him. “Don’t you dare touch me.”

           “I do not sleep with men,” Ra’s reproached with a frown, offended. And Tim would have breathed a sigh of relief from escaping that fate, but Ra’s’ next words came slithering wrapped in a foreboding intent. “I  _do_  sleep with women, and even with all your scars,  _you are_   _more than adequate_.”

         Ra’s released Tim’s chin, his hand dragging down to Tim’s chest. A wave of revulsion swept through Tim as the elder man’s icy fingers caressed deliberately. A deeper full fledged fear drenched Tim as Ra’s continued to touch scars, moving downward. He twisted, moving only as much as the bands would give.

         “You will make a fine woman,” Ra’s continued triumphantly. Tim yanked and pulled and strained against his manacles as Ra’s stepped back, admiring.

         “Y-you can’t do that!” Tim stuttered, voice high. He watched as Ra’s reached into a drawer. Tim swore and broke the joints in his right hand, blood dripping at the open fractures created when he freed it with a second crunching. He was barely conscious of the pain as he scrabbled to pry the manacle off his other hand. He had to get out.

         “Ahh,” Tim gasped as Ra’s’ hand closed in on his broken one, crushing.

         “You are beautiful when you struggle,” and Tim was horrified as Ra’s delivered a kiss to the hand, licking and sucking the red substance off one finger. He couldn’t draw his hand back in the unforgiving grip.

       “Let go of me!”

        Tim tried desperately to retrieve his hand, and he was too aware of the prick of needle as Ra’s smashed his lips onto his.

         “Never,” Ra’s whispered. The two haunting syllables followed Tim into unconsciousness.

\--------

                Tim couldn’t make sense of anything as he drifted in and out. He had the appalling sense that something was off. Something was important, that he should be doing. But everything  _burned_. It coursed through his body, and he was never sure if he was awake or asleep. The only thing he knew for certain was that someone was  _stroking_  his hair. Every now and then, he would feel the gesture between random sights and sounds of metal, blood and bone. And he had the hazy image of green bubbly liquid that stung and corrode, but that disappeared with a touch. Fingers, ice cold, were sifting through his locks again in a continuous soothing motion. He tried to lean into it, but he felt too weak. They were the only thing that seemed to bring a measure of comfort.

                The fingers obliged him, anticipating, and Tim thought it must be Dick because only Dick would do that. He wondered when they found him.  _Saved him_.

                “Dick,” he tried to say, but it slurred on his tongue. He wanted to say thanks.

                “Shh…don’t try to talk,” a voice low and not Dick whispered. Tim would have tried to protest, but he felt so tired and the fingers just kept  _stroking and stroking_ , rhythmic and steady. So, Tim nodded or at least he attempted to. It’ll be okay when he woke up. He was home. And the fingers still went on, gliding through his hair.

                The next time Tim woke, it was to the pain scorching through his body and the scent of Jasmine, light and delicate in the air. That was strange to Tim because the manor never smelled like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Alfred could do whatever he wanted.

                His body felt heavy, and Tim couldn’t open his eyes even if he wanted to. He was in a state of malaise, and everything was sore. A numbing constant ache.  It bore deep into his bones and left Tim huddling for relief. And he felt hot, so hot that he was suffocating. Tim could feel the sheets tangled in his legs and arms. He tried to move, but he only succeeded in making noises of discomfort. The heat was cloistering, and he would have panicked but the heat evaporated suddenly.

                The sheets around Tim were loosened and pushed away, cool air rushing to his body. There was a dip in the bed, and Tim was dimly aware of someone lifting him. His back rested against someone’s chest, and Tim whimpered as someone pressed what felt like a wet cloth to his forehead. Must be Dick, he thought. Or Alfred who prepared it. He relished the sensation and sighed appreciatively. Tim was going to need to do something big for Dick in return.

                “My songbird, my detective,” a voice rippled into Tim’s ear heatedly, “if I could have you every single day like so I would.”

                 _Ra’s_. The name streaked through Tim’s dulled mind. Like a slicing gale, the memories cut ruthlessly into Tim’s drowsiness. His eyes snapped open to find himself nestled snugly against the villain.

                “Ra’s,” Tim croaked out, throat raw and rusty. He couldn’t move his body, and he  _wasn’t_  home. Tim stared at the other man’s face, disorientated and vision swimming slightly.

                “Ah, you are finally awake,” Ra’s noted calmly. He removed the cloth from Tim’s forehead. “I was worried that the changes were too much.”

                As Tim’s vision cleared, a sinking feeling gutted his stomach, and he tried to sort out what happened.

                “You…”

                Tim bit the inside of his cheek and propelled himself out of Ra’s’ embrace with what little energy he had. He stumbled onto the floor, and his muscles protested the sudden shock. Tim struggled to stand, unbalanced, and Ra’s tucked his arms around him. Supporting.

                “You are not yet recovered, Timothy.”

                And Tim was afraid. To look down.  _To see what Ra’s did._

                “No, you didn’t…” He couldn’t voice the act that Ra’s hinted at.

                “Did you not believe me?” Ra’s asked. He returned them to the bed, placing Tim on his back. Then, he lay on his side, pressing straight against Tim. “You will learn I deliver what I promised. And most certainly, promises for you.”

                Ra’s picked up a strand of Tim’s hair, twining it around his index. “Long hair is becoming on you, though these are mere extensions.”

                Tim felt sick. It was  _Ra’s’_  fingers combing through his hair. And Ra’s’ fingers he enjoyed. And Ra’s’ fingers the entire time. The fingers continued to card, and it nearly lulled Tim into complacency even as disturbing as it was. He wouldn’t allow it.

                “I will escape.” His eyes met Ra’s’ stubbornly.  _When he recovered_. “You can’t keep me here forever.”

                “And if you cannot?” Ra’s wondered, still toying with the fake locks.

                “They will come for me,” Tim answered firmly. Dick wouldn’t abandon him. Bruce would notice, and Kon—he could hear everything.

                Ra’s chuckled. “Do you really think that?”

                His voice dropped, and Tim could hear the mockery in the words.

                “I do,” Tim asserted. They wouldn’t fail him. “They  _will_  find me.”

                Sympathy lined Ra’s’s face in an instant, and Tim had the feeling he was missing something.

                “What?”

                “My poor dear,” Ra’s sighed. He released Tim’s hair, hand going to Tim’s neck and onward to chest. Tim followed it reluctantly, finally noting the physical changes made. His stomach churned as he catalogued the breasts— _his breasts_ —moving up and down beneath the white fabric with each intake and outtake of air. If it wasn’t so dire, Tim would have snorted. Ra’s would put him in a snow white virgin gown.

                He startled when Ra’s palmed one breast, resting on the foreign mound.

                “Ra’s,” Tim warned, uneasy. “I will cut off your hand if you don’t remove it.”

                “You are still recovering,” Ra’s responded.

                “Now, tell me,” he commanded. “Do you know what day it is?”

                Tim swallowed hard. A corner of his mind chimed anxiously. Ra’s enjoyed playing games.

                “No,” he answered carefully. “I don’t see why that matters.”

                Ra’s tut-ted at him, hand squeezing Tim’s breast gently. “ _This_  took time.”

                Tim shoved the hand off.

                “It took eight long weeks, but the results are magnificent.”

                The hand returned, but Tim was too disconcerted to deal with it. “ _Eight weeks?_ ”

                It wasn’t possible. He couldn’t have been captive more than a few days. There was no way that much time could have passed.

                Ra’s’ mouth curled up thoughtfully. “I do not suppose you would remember it through your bouts of delirium and sleep. Though you did enjoy my touch. Your change was tedious. Did you know it required two weeks of testing and experimentation alone to obtain a viable womb?”

                Tim shuddered as Ra’s lightly picked up Tim’s arm and pushed back the sleeve, abandoning his breast. The skin was unmarred. Tim’s eyes widened in disbelief.

                “Tell me you did not put me in the pit!”

                He clutched at Ra’s’s shirt. How was he going to face Bruce? After he was caught? And oh god, was he going to lose his mind? Ra’s pried Tim’s fingers off. “I am not so uncouth. I am well aware of your feelings on the matter. I merely used a mixture that contained two parts of the water.”

                Tim seethed. “Ra’s, I will—“

                Ra’s stopped Tim with a press of a finger to the lips. His eyes were dark as he said, “the more important question is  _why_. It has been eight weeks, and no one—Batman or whoever—has come.”

                Tim stilled. It was just a psychologically tactic. To get him to doubt.

                “You’re lying. They wouldn’t leave me here.”

                He refused to believe that. He could count on them.

                “Is that so?” Ra’s leaned in. And Tim couldn’t get rid of the thoughts of being forgotten, unwanted and…

                “Let me tell you something,  _my dear detective_. I do not think they  _even_  know you are gone from the nest.”

                Tim trembled, and Ra’s ran his fingers through his hair once more.

                “You are like a butterfly, ethereal and exquisite after a rest in silk threads. And you are  _mine_.”


	2. Whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because only Kon can hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For stolidity.

**  
**

                He was seventeen. Only seventeen. And he stared at his reflection in the mirror. The light cast a glowing yellow across his skin, dancing across  _curves_  and Tim stopped. He breathed in through his nose. One. Two. Three. He exhaled out his mouth. One. Two. Three.

                Tim started again. At his face. Which was the same. And the hair. Which wasn’t. Tim fingered a stray lock gingerly. It felt pretty genuine for being fake and he had to stop and breathe again. Because he was Ra’s’  _kidnapped child bride_.

                If Ra’s wasn’t lying, then Tim was stuck. For at least half a year. There was no way Tim could escape till then. It took time to heal and he need to—to adjust to his new body.

                And Tim sank to the floor, unable to breathe again. He could hold on till then.  _Right?_  He poked his breasts with a miserable sigh. He was only seventeen, and he was a female. Hysterically, Tim wondered what Kon might think. Kon would probably laugh and crack a few perverted jokes.

                 _Kon._

                Tim bolted to his feet and then dropped back down, dizzy at the sudden jolt and the revelation.

_Kon._

                And Tim placed a hand over his mouth, heart strangely regular for what he realized. A hand over his mouth in case there were cameras. In case someone could read lips.

                His mouth was so dry, and it took two hard swallows before Tim could speak.

                “Superboy,” he whispered, voice so low that no one could possibly hear it. Except Kon. Even if Tim was so far away. “Kon…I hope you’re listening.”

                He licked his lips, his throat feeling completely parched. “I need your help. Ra’s al Ghul has me, and I need you to let Batman know. Or Nightwing.”

                There was a knock on the door, and Tim jumped.

                “You cannot hide in the toilet forever, Timothy,” Ra’s’ voice drifted in. “Where do you think to escape to, hm? My little songbird?”

                “ _Please_ ,” Tim whispered more urgently, half tripping over his words as the door clicked. “And don’t you dare try and come rescue me by yourself.”

                The door cracked open, and Tim hoped desperately the meta heard him. Because only Kon could.


	3. Muted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ra's knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For purplemika and thestoriesintheashes.

**  
**

                Tim couldn’t bite back his panic. He was in bed, and it was a very nice bed with silk sheets of the highest standard and quality, but that didn’t matter. Tim scooted to the far side, lingering on the perilous edge of the bed. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he hoped to god he was imagining the dip in the mattress.

                He wasn’t, and an arm was pulling him to the center till he was intimately pressed to a firm chest. Sandalwood and a scent he couldn’t identify drifted to Tim’s nose, and he fought not to scream. Because he was close enough to know what Ra’s smells like.

                “Ra’s. Let go.”

                “Do cease your struggles, Timothy,” and Tim stilled, the voice too near and the breath too hot.

                “Get your own bed,” Tim snarled. He knew Ra’s had the money, and he was squirming,  _not_  even freed by an inch. Ra’s chuckled, the sound reverberating, and Tim flinched, feeling the vibration through his thin dress to skin. Ra’s was too close, and Tim was no way ready to deal with  _that_.

               He didn’t think Ra’s would move that fast, and he still wasn’t used to his body. Tim cursed inwardly, wishing he could slam Ra’s into the wall. A hand was tangling in Tim’s hair, his fake stupid hair.

               “This  _is_  my bed, Detective. Do feel a little gratitude that I have allowed you the use of it.”

               “I can sleep on the floor,” Tim retorted, and he managed to slap Ra’s with a resounding smack. Then, his hands were being pinned above his head, and Ra’s was staring down at him. Ra’s’ free hand swept over Tim’s cheek, and Tim could hardly breathe. Because of the violation in so simple an action. His skin crawled, and he was afraid. Ra’s was speaking, purring.

            “Tell me, Timothy, do you think you will be saved?”

            “Yes,” and Tim was angry that it sounded so weak. He could be saved. He would be saved. Rescued. He knew because whenever he had the chance, Tim whispered. For Kon.

             He gasped as Ra’s’ fingers pulled violently at a strand of his hair.

             “My songbird, you never cease to amuse me.”

             And Tim hated the response elicited as Ra’s ran a slightly callous thumb down the column of his throat. He fixed his eyes to the ceiling, focusing on anything but Ra’s, forcing his body rigid. He couldn’t close his ears, and the words fluttered in, way too warm.

              “I  _know_  you, and I  _know_  your friends.” Ra’s tapped a finger on Tim’s breast, right above the heart. “It was not difficult to take certain measures.”

             Tim’s eyes snapped from the ceiling onto Ra’s. In the semi-dark, the man was more than sinister. The implication clear.

           “Yes,” Ra’s purred. “A modified pacemaker.”

            And Tim almost relaxed at that, to cry in relief. Because Ra’s  _didn’t know_. That even without his heart, Kon has and could listen for his voice. Tim gulped the tiny hope down, muscles tight and more than glad he made Kon trained for such a scenario. For his voice. For his heart. For the possibility.

            “You are vile,” he said, and Ra’s was nipping down his neck, licking, sucking. And Tim could feel the scratchiness of his beard as he went.

            “I am,” Ra's agreed.

           “Don’t,” and Tim tugged, fear returning. Because he was still here. In Ra’s arms, and there was no Kon or Bruce or Dick. Yet.

         The kisses stopped, Ra’s releasing Tim’s hands. He stroked Tim’s hair, and Tim shivered at the gentle action.

        “I will stop,” Ra’s said. “Because you are mine, and the day you come to me willingly,  _begging for my touch_ , will be priceless.”

        Tim prayed there would never be such a day, and Ra’s continued to comb through Tim’s hair.


	4. Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only Ra’s wants Timothy, regardless of gender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For mistressarachne. Because of that lovely headcanon about female cycles.
> 
> It seems I always underestimate when I’ll write something. 
> 
> Also, check out lectorel's Dysphoria on tumblr. It's semi-connected to Metamorphosis. She's an amazing writer. So go and read it!

                The colors were off, a muted set of notes in triplets that didn’t fit the score of the room. The air was thick, heavy with that familiar Jasmine, and the sheer off white curtains that hung from the frame of the bedposts swung to an odd tune played by a breeze from the French window cracked open a smidge.

                “You drugged me,” Tim stated, taking everything a second time. There was a low ache in his nether regions, throbbing, pulsing, and Tim had a start. He was having his…menstrual for the third time.

                “I’m afraid you will suffer a painful menstrual cycle for the rest of your life,” Ra’s said, apologetic. “It is an unintended side effect.”

                Tim snorted. “A side effect? Ra’s, you took my body and made me female.”

                He pushed the blankets off. He didn’t see any blood.

                “Your cycle finished while you were asleep.”

                Tim was relieved. That it was over, but to think he’ll have to do this every month made him grimace. And that he was out for two days. Tim moved to flick the blankets back over himself, but Ra’s was there to stop it.

                “Ra’s. I’m not in the mood for you to play your games.” Tim tugged at the blankets, and Ra’s kept it firmly down. “I’m tired. I ache and you are the cause of this headache that is starting to form.”

                Ra’s steadily ignored him, sliding an arm under Tim’s legs, the other arm coming to rest behind Tim’s back. Effortlessly, he lifted Tim.

                “Ra’s!”

                And Tim wrapped his arms around Ra’s’ neck for fear of falling. His head pounded, and he felt sick.

                “Be calm. I merely wish to make amends.”

                Ra’s carried him to the bathroom where a bath was drawn. He bit his lips, unsure of what to make of Ra’s unexpected gesture.

                “You drew me a bath?” Tim voiced when Ra’s gently sat him down on the edge of the tub. He could see the steam in the air and oh, this was where the scent of Jasmine came from, concentrated in all its heavenly wafting smell. There were even actual Jasmine flowers floating in the steamy water, making ripples.

                “Your muscles are sore, are they not?” Ra’s gaze was piercing.

                “As I’ve said, entirely your cause.”

                “And I do take account for that.” With that Ra’s placed his hands on Tim’s shoulder. He slowly slipped the fabric of the nightgown off Tim’s shoulder, and Tim colored at the intimacy. At Ra’s cool hands and fingers resting on the bare skin in a contemplative pause. At the change he still wasn’t unaccustomed to.

                “You are too thin even after being in my care for this long.”

                Then Ra’s drew the rest of the gown off to waist, pulling Tim upward so it dropped to the floor. Tim didn’t look down. He kept his gaze firmly focused on Ra’s’ chest as the man placed him into the water. The heat sang and curled around his skin, sweet and delicate to each tender point and Tim sighed.

                “This doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with you,” he informed Ra’s.

                “I did not expect you to,” Ra’s said, and he took the spot Tim previously occupied.  _Watching._  “Not quite so soon.”

                “You mean never.” Tim wriggled his fingers in the bath delightedly, and Jasmine buds swam around him. He was starting to get used to the scent to the point of liking it, despite the association with Ra’s.

                Then Ra’s chuckled and Tim looked over to him warily. He sank into the water, deeper. Suddenly aware. Reminded. That he wasn’t a male. And Ra’s still wanted…

                “Tell me, Detective. What do you suppose will be should you escape?”

                Tim didn’t answer. That was a question that Tim thought about repeatedly. In fact, every spare moment that was free and was safe, Tim whispered to Kon. Whispered to him where he was. Whispered how much he wanted to be home.

                “Ah, how about the clone?” Ra’s continued, not bothered by Tim’s silence at all and as if reading his thoughts directly. “Do you think he’ll be pleased with your new form?”

                “It doesn’t matter.”

                Tim hadn’t whispered that to Kon. He hadn’t even thought about it. And he thought about it now. It wouldn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter because he was still Tim.

                But Ra’s words were creeping, perverting. “I imagine he will want you. Because he will be stunned. He will see what I see now that you are of the female persuasion.”

                Tim sank lower into the water.

                “I’m still the same regardless of gender.”

                “Only to me,” Ra’s countered. “He will want your body.”

                Tim turned away, back facing Ra’s. He studied the tiles on the wall, counting each peach tanned stone of raised leaves and flowers. Because Ra’s was a glib tongue with the finest rhetoric, and he refused. Refused to listen, to have his will tested—but Ra’s was purring, the warm water relaxing and his head giddy and heady.

                “He will want this.”

                Ra’s hands fell onto his hair, long enough to fan over the water. His voice was seductive and warm, promises of the most sinful kind delivered straight to Tim’s ear.

                “And only this. But me? Your body only mattered for the purpose of bearing an heir.”

                Tim tingled at the declaration. To be wanted so much, and Ra’s was tipping his head backward, kiss stamped to forehead, searing.

                “And I want you, Timothy, regardless.”


	5. Fetter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just one kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I don’t know if anyone is nitpicky or will notice it but just in case…so far I’ve been writing in third person. For this one, it’s in present tense. It sounded weird when I tried in past tense. And it just didn’t work. It sounded better/I need it in present tense. Or maybe it’s just bad writing abilities on my part. Not to mention, I wrote this a bit differently compared to the other pieces… So, if you noticed that this is in present tense instead of past tense—yeah. There’s your warning.

 

                “Come. Warm my bed for me,” and Tim would be willing, ready to obey. Because the weeks were long, the days longer and even though it has been barely half a year at most he finds himself weakening. Wanting to be drawn in, cocooned in that ill stoked warmth. He’s nestled against Ra’s whose fingers tangled in his hair. Always rhythmic, steady, stroking and sliding, combing and grooming and  _prepared_. Always prepared for the moment Tim hesitates just enough to turn fingers running through hair to the orchestrating of marionette’s strings. Tim’s strings.

                He thinks Ra’s is already there.

                 _“Read to me, Timothy. I wish to hear your voice.”_

_And he does after a grumble, coaxing characters to life to the point he forgets he’s reading to Ra’s. Ra’s listens appreciatively, all the while teasing Tim’s hair between his fingertips._

                Tim’s hair isn’t fake. Not anymore. Not when the passage of time has turned it long past shoulders a few inches, turned it silky and soft, and captivity has  _only_  nourished the richness of color, the smoothness of strands and the gleam that loudly proclaims him a songbird.

                 _Ra’s songbird_. Carefully tended to by Ra’s every word, the crease in lip corners, the taste of Lazarus laced tea and above all touch. He was never touched enough before.

                 _“They do not care for you. Look—see how they smile without your presence?”_

_“Videos can be edited, Ra’s.”_

_“And love can be falsified as well, Detective.”_

 

                Ra’s fingers never cease, a nightly ritual petting, devoted to his hair of clipped wings, locks forever infused, drenched, soaked and seeped in Ra’s essence, scent and Jasmine.

 

                 _“Warm your own bed.”_

_“You need not sleep with me,” Ra’s says and Tim sighs, ignoring the fact he was still at Ra’s’ side._

_“You do not need me to bear your child. You have heard of clones, yes?”_

_“You are special,” Ra’s purrs,” and you must be treated as such. I will not have mistakes and negligence where you are concerned.”_

                He is deposited on the bed like a child, and Tim doesn’t dare shut his eyes. It would be too much to bear.

                 _Ra’s draws the covers up, arm curling around Tim’s waist._

                To have the magnification of all the emotions Ra’s weaves to entice and fetter him. He hears sharply the soft fall and rise of Ra’s’ slumber. Smells keenly the Jasmine, the sandalwood and sand, the ancient aroma of Ra’s’ being. Feels the weight of lace on his skin, the fragility of silk— _Ra’s turns_ —and the scratch of beard.

                Tim didn’t need to close his eyes. There in the dark, while Ra’s sleeps, he is besieged from all sides, things already magnified and too acute. To be Ra’s songbird and to sing a tune so sweet and clear for its master.

                So, he leans down his head,  _compelled_ , and presses shy innocent lips to Ra’s’ temple. The man stays asleep.

                 _“You will come to me willingly one day.”_

                Tim doesn’t sleep. He stays awake still. He realizes his action, eyes blown wide open.

 

                And Tim runs. Runs with his clumsy, too awkward, too strange limbs.  _Not thinking_.

                He vaults over the wall and takes three men down. Flying.

 

                 _“I admire your grace,” Ra’s says. “You are lovely, so very lovely.”_

_Tim glares, blood on split lips, and aching. He failed to escape. Six months lost to heal, to know his body, and he failed._

_Ra’s strokes his hair fondly, and Tim isn’t sure if he could still whisper, still cry and call for Kon. For Bruce. For Dick or anyone._

_“And you still remain, my dear Timothy, always mine. I will not let you go.”_

                That one kiss out of weakness costs him.

_“Come. Warm my bed for me,” and Tim shakes and trembles. He just might accept his fettered chains._


	6. Songbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn’t think about escaping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who can’t read sex, ignore this chapter. You do not really need it, and if I ever reference to it in the future, just know something happened. AND after this part, Tim will be rescued in the next. Because although I like Tim/Ra’s, this verse isn’t really set for that ending. And lectorel already did a fine job in writing that ending.  
> Special thanks to varebanos, nekochan114 & karmagoblin for looking this over and providing feedback. <3 They’re the best~
> 
> And also thank brokenseal and babybirdblues for helping me figure out those damn sentences.

 

           “Timothy, my dear Timothy.”

                The reverence in his name washed over Tim, flowing and addicting to hear. And Tim ached acutely. Wanting. He watched as Ra’s crossed the room, needing and distressed. That he  _needed_. That Ra’s would make him need to the point he suffered withdrawal. To have his senses crave. For his hair to be stroked, to be held and to sing, sing like a bird for its petulant master. Because he was nearly there. To become Ra’s songbird.

                And Tim couldn’t stop the words in his mouth from starting.

                “Ra’s,” he whimpered, “I want—“

                But Tim could stop that. Stop the ending, and he shook. He almost said those words. To give away his hope. To accept his fetters. However, Ra’s’ ears already picked up the faint whisper, picked up the want, the hesitation, and he pounced. Ready to play Tim’s strings. Always.

                “Yes, Timothy? What do you want?” Tim hated how amused Ra’s was, how he was so near the edge. Craving, needing, wanting, yearning. But he pulled them back. Bundling them up. Because he couldn’t say those words.  _Half a year_. He managed half a year. He could manage another half. He could fight this addiction that Ra’s trained him onto.

                “Nothing. It’s nothing,” Tim said shortly, so short that it was clear nothing was everything. And he stared at the carpeted floor, ill and wavering. Shaking with need.  _Just another half year_.

                He couldn’t hide the catch in his throat as Ra’s came near, arms around his waist. Inviting. Tim sank into them. Willingly. Because he wanted.  _It was wrong_.

                Ra’s’ lips danced along the back of his neck, several  _chasses_ to pointed shoulder where Ra’s bit down, curling warmth, and it was just enough to take off the edge. Still, Tim’s mouth worked silently, unable to form speech, all too mesmerized by the feel, savoring. Desiring. Felt the withdrawal dissolving. Blood surging at the rush. At Ra’s’ touch. His mind heady and hazy.

                Then a hand was passing  _chaînés_  across his side, over stomach and up, up, up—

                “I’m not,” Tim breathed, and it was so hard to pull away, to force out the remnants of his resolve, “not going to sleep with you.”

                He felt the heat in his face, Ra’s’ chest pressed so neatly against his back to be almost natural. Right. And he tried to remember. It was only half a year. Six months. Twenty four weeks and…

                “No,” Ra’s murmured, agreeing. But his hand didn’t stop, didn’t pause, continuing undeterred. And Tim bit his lips at the pinch, the tweak to a nipple, teasing. Still wanting. Still addicted because Ra’s knew how to orchestrate his strings. And he sighed with Ra’s’ next words. “I am merely showing you the  _pleasures_  of your form.”

                Another hand was ghosting down his thigh, fabric pushed aside. Tim wavered, eyes half mast, weakening. Bending to Ra’s’ every touch, every twang and pull of his strings.

                “I don’t need to,” he replied.

                He didn’t need to know Ra’s’ fingers,  _caressing, circling,_  and how they were committed to memorizing the details of Tim’s turned flesh. The details of how to play him when he didn’t even know how himself.

                “Your body begs otherwise.”

                And Tim was startled. By a finger entering and he leaned back into Ra’s unconsciously, shuddering as that one digit  _stroked_.

                “Ra’s…”

                And Tim was so weak kneed, so pliant, so soft and melting, and he didn’t crumple only because of Ra’s.

                “Do you feel that?” Ra’s asked, voice slipping low, dark and husky. And Tim felt it. The way Ra’s touched. The way he was slowly becoming tainted. Because Ra’s wasn’t just in his hair, but in his skin. “You are quite… _wet_.”

                Ra’s added another finger, and Tim cried out loud at that.

               “Please don’t,” and his legs were spreading, needing, wanting, and it was so wrong. He had never done this before. Tim’s head tilted back. “Don’t—“

                “Stop?” Ra’s finished for him, still stroking. His fingers moved. Steady. Rhythmic.

                “Of course not. I will not leave you in such a state, so unrelieved.”

                The same devotion normally applied to Tim’s hair was repeated there. Focused. Intense. The sensations rippled through Tim. Blinding. Confusing. He arched, hips seeking. Unsure for what but that he needed. And—

               “Lovely,” Ra’s purred. “So very lovely.”

                 Tim’s eyes fluttered close, throat tight and  _so close_.

                 One brush against his clit sent him over, muscles clenching around fingers. When he opened his eyes, still reeling, he flushed to see Ra’s tasting his fingers, tasting him, saying “exquisite”.

                Tim didn’t have time to react before he was carried, on the bed, lying back as Ra’s kissed a knee, head moving up the curve of thigh through open mouthed kisses because it wasn’t over (“I must taste you more thoroughly”) and it was all just,  _oh_. Ra’s’ mouth was so hot, so eager. And Tim pulled at Ra’s hair, not knowing when his hands moved. To urge Ra’s closer. To cry and keen at every flick of tongue, delving and diving, teeth scraping across, beard tickling his thighs and Tim sang. Sang high, clear and loud for Ra’s. Sang sweetly, lovingly, adoringly. Because he was  _Ra’s’ songbird_  and he was being played so thoroughly, so well he barely registered the high.

                And as he tried to breathe, to recover from the orgasm Ra’s so skillfully brought him to, he watched as Ra’s pulled away, pants shoved down to stroke himself. Watched as Ra’s groaned. Realized how much Ra’s invested in him. That he could use that, but his loins twitched as Ra’s came and finished. Wishing for more. To be filled.

 

                 _Ra’s left, pleased, and Tim was left shaking. Trembling. Quivering from what transpired. That he enjoyed it. That he was addicted. He didn’t think about escaping. Not once._


	7. Pinprick

He had dreamt of this, thought of this and spared half of his thoughts for this…

But it was such that Tim couldn’t believe it. That Kon was real and stood before him. And Tim gazed, gazed into those unearthly blue eyes. Saw the worry and concern there. Saw—saw that Kon didn’t recognize him. Didn’t see Tim as Tim. He hoped it wasn't true.

It was proven wrong when Kon placed his hands on Tim’s shoulders, his female shoulders, and spoke.

“Hey—I’m not going to hurt you. Just—have you see my buddy?”

And Tim’s mouth was dry. Dry and his mouth was a sandy desert without a single oasis. Because Kon did not recognize Tim.

He couldn’t breathe as Kon went on urgently.

“He’s Red Robin—about your height---“

Tim didn’t know how to explain, how to say he was Tim when he didn’t look like Tim. Didn’t look like old Tim in his muscled physique, near underweight and awkward. Couldn’t make his appearance comprehendible. Couldn’t reconcile now and then even if his face was the same because everything else was different.

Because Tim was Ra’s’ songbird. Slender and white, devoid of scars. Green yellow dress shifting, compliant and hair imbued with Jasmine and Ra’s’ scent. And female, so very female.

“I--,” and Tim faltered. Faltered to say who he was, who he used to be and what he was now. Because his heart beat differently and his body changed.

But that stilted word, that stilted “I”, was enough. Because Kon had listened for Tim's whispers, listened and listened and knew that voice.

The comprehension in Kon’s eyes came too late. Ra’s was gliding to them, gliding proud and Tim trembled.

“Do you not recognize your friend?” Ra’s asked, amused by their meeting even in the wake of Tim’s rescue.

That made Tim pushed Kon away, felt the arms dropped and Kon’s heavyweight stare. Felt the prick of Kon’s eyes, scanning deep and close. It was exposing and intimate to be under those blue eyes that Tim knew, but he held himself rigid.

Allowed Kon to look, peer and know. Penetrate down to truth and shame.

“Tim,” and there was the shock and anger. He felt the heat of sun and he wanted Ra’s.

Because that was safer than Kon’s scrutiny, but he was whisked into strong arms, whisked into Kon’s arms.

And Kon carried Tim out through the laser burnt hole, Tim cradled to his chest.

He should feel relief. He didn't.

Tim turned his head back. Watched as Batman and Nightwing confronted Ra’s. Watched as Ra’s watched him watch, smile knowing. And Tim turned his head away, held onto Kon tight.

Ra’s was a pinprick in his eyes, but Tim was still his.


	8. Robin

They were in the air and Tim didn’t like that all. Because he had no way of running or escaping. He was nestled snugly against Kon’s chest, could feel the wind in his hair and the minute pressure of TTK on his skin. And Kon was so silent, so, so silent. It made Tim’s heart ache and his stomach roll, but words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

“Ti—are you okay?” Kon asked. It was abrupt and it took Tim a full twenty seconds to register it and another twenty to answer.

“I,” and Tim swallowed a lump in his throat, “don’t know.”

Because he didn’t know what to feel. And he lifted his eyes to Kon’s unearthly blue, nervous and afraid as Kon set them down next to the aircraft that Bruce had most likely flown here. He stumbled to stand on the grainy ground and Kon steadied him easily, warm hand on arm.

“Thanks,” Tim muttered, face half flushed. He wasn’t a damsel in distress, but he felt so weak and clumsy. He didn’t have the energy to snap at the point. And something flickered in his mind.

“He will see what I see now that you are of the female persuasion.”

 

Kon sighed heavily, hand still on Tim’s arm.

“Why are you?” and Kon’s gaze studied Tim once more, studied the hair infused with Jasmine and Ra’s’ essence, studied the pallor of skin and the dress that only accentuated the difference and the lack of scars.

“Ra’s wanted an heir,” Tim explained smoothly and he was amazed. That he could voice that easily, calmly but then old habits die hard. Tim was trained, efficient and bred to keep his mind clear in face of any situation. He was still Robin in mind. Still Red Robin and Tim in mind if not, if not physically.

“Oh,” Kon said and an uneasy pause fell between them and released Tim’s arm.

“Yeah,” Tim said and he clutched at the fabric of his dress, wishing for a stray thread to pick at but the clothes Ra’s provided were quality. No shoddy products for Timothy, he thought bitterly.

He watched as Kon’s hand lifted, reaching out to him and paused because Tim had breasts and it wasn’t—

“Your heartbeat. It’s not the same.”

“I imagine he will want you.”

 

“Pacemaker,” Tim said and he took Kon’s hand, pressed it against his chest, letting Kon feel and hear the odd pulse and rhythm of his now heart.

“He didn’t mess with my voice though.”

And Kon stared at him, expression unreadable. Tim was afraid.

“He will want your body…and only this.”

 

Tim’s hand fell, but Kon’s hand was still on his chest. Heavy and weighted, heat creeping past fabric to skin and searing to heart. He turned away from Kon, stiffed and gazed at the direction where Ra’s was.

Ra’s was rig—

He stiffened further. Kon’s arms were wrapping around him from behind, TTK insistent and light.

“You’ll always be my Robin,” Kon said clearly into his ear. And Tim thought he could forgive Kon. Forgive him for not knowing Tim.

“And you’ll always be my clone boy,” Tim finished. Ra’s was wrong and Tim relaxed into Kon’s arms, eyes closing. They stood there and waited for Bruce and Nightwing. Tim was going home and in the winds, Tim imagined he heard a whisper.

“And I want you, Timothy, regardless.”

 

He settled into Kon’s arms more firmly. He was a robin, not a songbird.


	9. Failure

Tim struggles not to fidget, not to touch his hair when he talks to Bruce. Because he won’t be patrolling for a while or doing anything publicly for Wayne Enterprises. It would be a host of problems to explain Red Robin’s sudden female-ness or Tim Drake’s absence.

Bruce understands and Tim feels failure. Feels the disappointment and the ache low in his belly. He knows there wasn’t anything he could have done, but Tim feels failure all the same. Because he allowed himself to be caught and he wasn’t—couldn’t ever be the son that Bruce wanted.

He smiles at Bruce, hides the ragged edges of his failure in the grin, and he leaves before tears prick his eyes. But Bruce calls back to him just as Tim has one foot on the stairs up to the manor.

“Tim,” Bruce says.

“Yes?” And Tim turns, turns and feels the swish in his uncut hair and the phantom swing of skirt at calves. Bruce stares at him, stares at the foreign appearance of Tim (failure wrapped in spades of unfulfilled duties) before he coughs and clears his throat.

“I have,” Bruce says slowly, “set up an appointment for you.”

“An appointment?”

Then Tim’s eyes narrows, narrows and its focus is sharp on Bruce. There is unease in his stomach because Bruce doesn’t nod but meets his gaze hard and cold. Bruce rushes his words, and Tim knows it because Bruce didn’t have his pause, the measure pause whenever he said something important or vital.

“On the 21st at two pm. Dr. Thompkins and Dr. Midnite will be seeing you.”

“Bruce,” Tim says and questions. “What is the appointment for?”

“Check up and consultation for surgery.”

Tim feels his breath rush out of him. He puts a hand against the wall and tries not to fall. Tim thinks he should feel grateful. That Bruce was offering it. Made the appointment and—

“Why?” Tim asks and it comes out angry. Because he failed and this was Bruce’s attempt to redeem him. And Tim should be thankful he still had a chance, but he didn’t know if he wanted to be male again. He didn’t know what he wanted.

Bruce looks away from him, looks at the cases and the uniforms inside.

“I thought you wanted it,” Bruce says softly. Tim has to swallow and count to ten before he can think enough to answer. Because they never spoke about it. When Tim finds his voice, he can’t make his mouth work. He breathes a second time and tries again.

“I don’t know,” Tim says and the words are too loud in the cave. “I don’t know if I want to go back.”

Bruce watches him carefully, mulls over Tim’s words. “I could cancel it.”

Tim sighs and he wants to sink down to the floor. He was failing Bruce again. Tim rubs the bridge of his nose, inhales and exhales deeply.

“Bruce, I just…,” his shoulders drop. He needed time. Because he didn’t know what to do or how to do it. This wasn’t something he could easily make a step by step plan or list for, but Tim did know he needed time. More time than anyone thought he needed.

But how could he fail Bruce again?

Then Tim straightens and he looks as Bruce.

“I’ll--,” but his agreement is stopped because Bruce was walking up to him. Bruce’s gaze softens just slightly, and Tim almost jerks when Bruce brings a hand up. Bruce looks down at Tim’s breasts hidden beneath the baggy shirt and places an unsure hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“I’ll cancel it,” Bruce says roughly. His hand tightens minutely on Tim’s shoulder, and Tim reads it. The guilt and apology there. For not getting to Tim in time. For not being able to—

“Oh,” Tim says and he is failing all over again.


	10. Laced

The candles were short wicks. One use flat tin cans. Jasmine scented and buried at the bottom of Tim’s socks drawer in shame. Because sleep was hard even if Tim was back at the manor, back at home.

He wanted Ra’s and those fingers gliding through his hair, steady and rhythmic and soothing. He wanted the comfort of another body warm next to his instead of the giant space all around him on a king bed.

And Tim rolled off his bed, crashed to the floor purposely. He was disgusted with his wanting. With failing Bruce, for waving off the appointment, and Tim still couldn’t sleep. The candles were there…

He lighted the candles after a mad scramble for it. Tore the skin off the back of his hand on the drawer’s corner. He breathed in the scent, inhaling deeply, nose so close to almost touch the flame and burn. Ra’s, he thought and wanted to sing.

But Tim blew the candles out instead and tossed each of the candles hard against the wall.

He failed Bruce but all he could think about was missing Ra’s.

Tim tried hard. Tried not to let Ra’s get under his skin and to think about the man. In the morning, he drank coffee, bitter and dark. Alfred supplied it with a disapproving frown, but Tim took it and gulped it down to burn esophagus. He didn’t want anything to remind him of Ra’s, but in the afternoon Cass was home and she wanted tea.

He watched as Cass poured out the tea, hand steady and calm, wrist slender and scarred. She filled the two cups slowly and the rich scent of Jasmine expanded in the room. He couldn’t hide the smile on his lips at that.

“Thanks,” Tim said softly and took one of the cups carefully. The porcelain was already hot from the liquid, but Tim let it toast his fingers, turn them pink and he remembered.

“This is a special blend,” Ra’s said as he poured out the tea. It was deep red in color with a hint of brown in the reflection and a light glow of green.

Tim sighed and tapped his fingers on the table restlessly.

“You always have a special blend.”

Ra’s merely smiled and placed the cup before Tim.

“It is necessary to try new things though I do have my comforts.”

Tim picked up the cup and dropped it. It was hot and on his fingers. Ra’s had his hand in his immediately, handkerchief already soaking away the hot tea.

“I apologize for not warning you how hot this particular set could get.”

And Ra’s’ mouth was on his fingers, brushing a kiss on each digit.

 

“You are quiet,” Cass commented lightly. Tim managed a weak smile. She didn’t seem to be bothered by his gender, and he sipped his tea carefully.

“Just a lot of thoughts,” Tim said. Cass leaned forward, fingers folded, elbows on the table.

“I used to drink tea with Ra’s.” Tim blinked and set his cup down with a slight shudder. I miss him.

“It was—you would have liked it. Lots of different blends.”

Tim laughed as lightly as he could and stared down into his cup. The taste wasn’t the same. He wanted his tea laced. Laced with Lazarus and to see the glint of green glowing.

“Okay,” Cass said suddenly, and Tim looked up at her.

“Okay?” He echoed.

“Okay,” Cass said and put a hand over Tim’s.

But it wasn’t okay. Because Tim’s taste buds watered for tea, but he drank coffee and threw out his candles. He could get rid of Ra’s, but his body shook and tremble. And Cass was pouring tea again. Here again and she was pouring it out for them to drink.

And when Tim reached for his cup, he could hardly breathe.

“Cass,” he said and was afraid it was a dream. Because there was a hint of green to the tea. Glowing. Cass pulled a bottle from her bag and tapped it gently. It was glowing a brilliant green.

“Slow,” Cass said. “Slowly stop drinking it. Slowly be okay.”

“Okay,” and Tim drank the tea and remembered Ra’s.


	11. Dibs

“Tim. You’re still up?” Dick asked, his face lined with worry. He stood at the kitchen entrance, one hand rested against the doorframe. Tim looked up at him, startled slightly. But he sighed and settled more firmly onto his stool. It was three oh eight in the morning, and he was haunted by Ra’s.

“Hello Dick,” Tim intoned quietly. He looked down at his tea from the corner of his eyes. The glow of green was bright, luminous in the semi-darkness. Cass told him to take it slow, but Tim feared it wasn’t slow but being dependent. He couldn’t stop drinking the tea and lacing it. It only made Tim missed him more.

Dick ignored the tea and reached out to Tim. He tilted Tim’s head up, fingers intrusive and it wasn’t hesitant. It was exactly the same as before. When he was Tim and male and nobody cared how to touch him if they had that privilege. That made Tim shake and pull away from Dick’s hold.

“You should be sleeping,” Dick said as he leaned back against the kitchen counter, eyes studying Tim. Studying the change and the difference. Noted Tim’s hair long and free, still infused with the phantom of Ra’s fingers.

“I couldn’t sleep.”

Dick’s face was solemn, but he asked as lightly as he could, “nightmares?”

Tim exhaled slowly. “In a way.”

They weren’t really nightmares but more like a good dream. The kind that made you wished you were still dreaming. Tim didn’t think it would apply to Ra’s, but it did. He traced the rim of his cup with an index finger, daring Dick to say something, anything about the tea. Take it away and make it better, but that was stupid thinking. Worthless and it did nothing to make the ache go away.

There was a clatter, and Tim looked warily at the slice of chocolate cake Dick set before him. It was left over from dinner. He didn’t even notice Dick moving to the fridge.

“Dick…,” Tim trailed.

“Just take a bite or two,” Dick said, handing him a fork. “It won’t hurt.”

You’re too thin, Tim read into the action. He took the fork and sliced off a triangle corner. Placed it in his mouth, bit down and it was too sweet. Too much, cloying and thick, and nothing like the desserts Ra’s offered. The thought made him choke.

“Tim!”

Dick rubbed at his back, rubbed circles and ovals even when Tim recovered and wasn’t choking anymore. Tim leaned into it, looked up at Dick.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

“Anytime.” Dick squeezed his shoulder with one hand, but he didn’t remove it. He stood close, Tim’s back to his chest, and Tim had a funny thought that it was a good decision to wear a t-shirt to bed. That a lower cut shirt would draw more attention, but—

“I heard Bruce made an appointment for you,” Dick said abruptly.

“He canceled it.” Tim tensed but Dick’s hands pushed down at his shoulders, squeezed and warned him to relax. Dick wasn’t doing anything more but talking.

“Okay,” Dick hummed and it made Tim afraid.

“Do you think I should have gone?” Because he already failed Bruce. He didn’t want to disappoint Dick either. Any more than he did already.

“It…,” Dick tapped his nose gently, “depends on you.”

Tim blinked, confused, and Dick laughed lightly. Dick’s fingers were in his hair now, toying with the strands as he did to Oracle sometimes. It was different from Ra’s’ strokes, and Tim’s mouth was dry at the memory and drier still at Dick’s next words.

“Timmy, it really doesn’t matter. We love you regardless.”

“Oh,” Tim managed to say, heart warm and coiling at the declaration.

Dick laughed again and tugged at his hair.

“If you decide to keep this,” Dick teased, “I call dibs on your hair.”

Tim had to laugh and he did, relaxing into Dick’s hands. They were quiet for a minute, and Tim picked up his tea and finished it off. Then he set down the cup with purpose.

“I think,” Tim said slowly, tilting his head up to meet Dick’s eyes. “I’m going to stay this way. Not because I want to but because I don’t know exactly what Ra’s did. For all I know, reversing the process might trigger something.”

“Sounds good, Timmy. I still call dibs by the way.”

And Tim let Dick played with his hair until Alfred came in and shooed them off to bed.


	12. Aware

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim had never felt so aware of what he lost till now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um…yeah. Deals with some anxiety/panic attack subtly and yeah…well, the entire verse contains force body modification, dissonance in perception, dubious consent, etc.

               “I don’t know you,” Stephanie said, and it hurts. Hurts more because it was unexpected. Tim thought the one that would be the most okay, the one who didn’t care would be Steph. But she took one look at Tim and went still. She didn’t even crack a joke like Tim imagined.

                “What do you mean you don’t know me?” Tim was still the same. It was still his voice, and he only looked different physically. He was still him.

                “It’s not—“ Stephanie waved her hand at him. Tim wasn’t even wearing a dress, but it didn’t seem to matter to Stephanie. Her eyes darted around, looking everywhere at him and then everywhere from him. “This isn’t you.”

                “Only in looks,” and Tim tugged at his shirt. Tugged at it and noticed how wide Stephanie’s eyes went.

                “You can’t tell me it’s only that,” she said. “You changed inside too. You’re not—you’re not boyfriend anymore. Not Tim Drake. Not the Tim I know and love.”

                Tim winced. Each “not” was sharp and slicing. “Steph, I’m—“

                “No,” Stephanie said, interrupting him. Tim was glad to see she was still her even if he wasn’t him. Strong and beautiful and—“Don’t say it. You can’t be sorry for this. I just can’t—“

                She backed away from him, hand reaching for her grapple.

                “Later,” Tim offered because it was all he could do.

                “Later,” Steph agreed briskly. Tim watched her go. She was an excellent Batgirl, and Tim wasn’t Red Robin.

 

00000000000000000000

 

                “She’ll come around,” Kon assured him. He was in Kon’s room, on the bed where Aunt Martha’s quilted blanket was spread on top, and Tim just sat there. It was foreign from the way Kon spoke to fill the silence, and how Tim kept his legs together. Kept them closed, pressed tight even though he didn’t change into a skirt. Came straight after speaking to Stephanie. He felt hyperaware and—

                “You didn’t cut your hair,” Kon said suddenly. It startled Tim, but he forced himself to relax and shrug.

                “I didn’t want to,” he admitted quietly. “I spoke to Dick, and I think I might stay like this?”

                “Okay,” and Kon’s voice was hushed. Gentle and accepting. Tim’s heart fluttered arrhythmically, and he stared at his clasped hands. He couldn’t tell what feeling was his own and what wasn’t. But Kon was already moving on. “—do you want to stay over?”

                Kon looked at him intently, and Tim’s stomach curled. It was slow. Slow readjusting. Tea with Cass and Alfred’s quiet presence. No patrols and not quite unsettling dreams. Tim refused to call them nightmares, and now, Kon. One of his best friends. Male and Tim wasn’t. He was always acutely aware of just what Kon could do and what he couldn’t do. It was necessary when fighting, when planning but the details didn’t help now.

                “You could share my bed,” Kon continued. “Like sleepovers back in the day.”

                “I don’t think,” Tim laughed bitterly, “that’s appropriate now.”

                His fingers clenched at the quilt, twisting fabric, and Tim tried to breath. His chest was tight, and Tim didn’t realize it would be this way. That Kon could make him so aware of what he lost.

                “Tim,” and he barely realized it was Kon speaking, in front of him. Eyes blue and Tim latched onto them, clinging as Kon directed him. “Take a deep breath, okay?”

                Tim did.

                “Now exhale slowly,” Kon went on, and Tim followed. Followed and went through five cycles before his chest wasn’t so tight.

                “Thanks,” Tim said softly.

                “That’s what I’m here for.” And Kon’s hands were large and broad on Tim’s thin shoulders, and Tim breathed in deeply again through his nose slowly as Kon’s hand drifted to his hair and stroked. Tim’s heart fluttered again. Unevenly to the pacemaker, and he didn’t know what was his own feelings.

 _He will want your body and only thi_ s.

                “Don’t treat me like a girl,” and the stroking stopped suddenly.

                “What?”

                “Your—your hand. It’s—“ Tim’s face burned, and why? Why was he so aware of what he wasn’t with Kon?

                “I’m not,” Kon said calmly. The stroking resumed steadily. “I’ve always wanted to do this, even before. It’s not because of your long hair.”

                Tim suppressed a shudder and allowed himself to rest his forehead on Kon’s chest.

                “Good,” he said. He was still him to Kon if not to Steph. “Dick called dibs on it by the way.”

                “Too bad,” Kon retorted. “He’s not here now. I have first dibs anyway.”

                “What about Bart?” Tim smiled into Kon’s shirt.

                “You want a speedster on your hair?” Kon was incredulous.

                “Um…Cassie?”

                “Dibs,” Kon said and ran his fingers through Tim’s hair easily.

                “Seriously, Kon?”

                “Seriously.”

                Tim didn’t think once of Ra’s and his fingers.


	13. Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim wanted him to hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t resist, and I was in the mood. So thank you takingtheriskoffalling. I’m pretty sure your post just jumped kicked it for me. Don’t know if I managed the tone right. Anyway, this is the…uh…third arc I suppose? Because we’re on the road to recovery! Please enjoy. 
> 
> I will definitely finish this next year!

                “Would you want me?” Tim asked. “If I was a…boy?”

                And it really wasn’t a fair question. Not at all, but he had to ask. Had to know even as Kon’s eyes startled at the sudden question, going round and large. Tim willed himself to look into that unearthly blue. The color was a burning brightness but Kon’s eyes were unreadable as if dark.

                Tim tore his eyes away, keeping his inhales and exhales even as his body was trained to do. He couldn’t read them. Not like how he used to be able to do. And Tim still wanted to know even if he couldn’t tell if they were lies. Kon’s hand fell on his, the weight of a planet and the drowning of a soul.

                “Tim,” Kon said gently. “You’re shaking.”

                He looked down and swallowed. His hands were shaking, and his body was shaking, and everything was shaking.

                “I am,” Tim said, voice stronger than his insides. He forced himself to stillness, one of the few things he could do since being back. Then, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask.”

                Kon pulled Tim’s hand into his own firmly. It was just as small as when he was Robin, but Tim had never felt so vulnerable.

                “Maybe,” Kon answered and Tim’s heart fell. Heartbeat stuttered.

                “I see,” Tim said as his heartbeat stuttered again. Kon leaned in close.

                “Look at me,” and Tim was drawn up to that face, to those eyes peering down at his own. He could scarcely breathe with that gaze.

                “Maybe doesn’t mean no. Doesn’t mean yes. It’s  _maybe_.” Kon hesitated before rushing out. “Would you for me?”

                Tim closed his eyes and laughed lightly. “Maybe. It’s maybe.”

                “Yeah,” Kon whispered. “Maybe.”

                There was a pause as they both took that in, the word a ghost between them. That path no longer existed and could not be explored.

                “I want to date you,” Kon said instead and gripped Tim’s hand tightly. Tim felt his heart stuttered once more in his chest as if the pacemaker would break.

                “No, you don’t. You don’t want to date me.”

                “Yeah, I do,” Kon said stubbornly. “I want you more than anything else. Please?”

                “I…,” Tim faltered and cursed himself. He wasn’t one of those swooning females from romance stories that needed saving. He was still Tim…just with that, right?

                “Tim…”

                “I want to make an appointment,” Tim said without thinking. Blurted it out but it was right. More than right having those words out of his mouth, out of his head.

                “What?” Kon said, confused.

                “I want to get rid of  _this_.” Tim dragged Kon’s hand up to where his heart was beating erratically with the god forsaken pacemaker. “I want you to hear it as it was. As how I really feel. So you will always know.”

                “Tim…,” Kon said softly. “You don’t have to.”

                “I want to,” Tim replied. It would take time to heal. It would and—he pressed Kon’s hand harder down on his chest, on his beating heart.

                “I still think I’m a guy inside, but you—“

                Kon kissed him then. Light and soft and sweet.

                “Just that,” Kon breathed against his lips. “Just that one.”

                He crushed Tim against him, the embrace awkward and strange with Tim’s breasts there and…

                “No,” Tim said, heart thumping. Desperate. “I want—“

                And it was so good, so heady to have Kon’s mouth on his. Enough to forget that everything was wrong, enough to forget that there was even anything in the world but them.

                “Yeah,” Kon panted, fingers sliding through Tim’s hair. “I want to hear your heart.”


	14. Residue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's only dreaming, and the want is more pervasive than Tim knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It's been so long. Here's the next part though. Recovery can be a long confusing journey. And if you're still sticking with this fic after so long, thank you so much. :)
> 
> I'm serious about finishing this fic this year. I still have plans for Stephanie anyway.

Tim dreamt of him. In his sleep. Of those long fingers sweeping through his hair, of every touch and kiss pressed to his skin. It makes Tim yearn, forget where he was.

               “Ra’s,” he exhales and spreads his legs in want. He’s still asleep, caught in between the dreams and the strangeness of the night hour. His eyes are closed, unable to really wake just yet, and he wants.

               “Please,” Tim sighs and shifts. Rucks his shirt up unconsciously to expose his soft belly and runs his fingers across the edge of his sleep pants, across his waist and hipbone. Just on the edge of hinting, of teasing. He wants so much, but there is nothing.

Tim whines, hands reaching upward for that face. He feels the need racing through him. Remembers how those fingers felt, how they knew exactly what to do. He needs it.

               “Ra’s,” he pleads again, but he’s stopped. By hands far too warm, too thick and large to be Ra’s’. It jars Tim from his sleep, makes him open his eyes.

               Kon is before him, fingers tight on Tim’s hands. Blue eyes wide and wondering.

               “Kon?” Tim whispers, and the realization jolts him. He snaps his legs together, face burned. Pulls his hands out of Kon’s grip. He averts his eyes, tries to recompose himself. “I—“

               And what does Tim say? Kon heard him loud and clear. Worse yet, Tim still feels that phantom need coursing through him. He pushes his thighs together firmly, but that dream holds strong.

               “Bad dream?” Kon asks lightly, as if he didn’t see Tim embarrass himself asking for Ra’s. He brushes the back of his fingers against Tim’s temple, alongside the hairline and to cheek. It’s gentle and tender. Careful as if Tim would ever reject him.

               “Yes,” Tim manages, but it isn’t true. It is a good dream, a good memory. It’s nice. It’s wrong.

               “Hm,” Kon says and presses his fingers into Tim’s hair fully now, actively running through those long strands. “That’s good.”

               Guilt floods Tim’s stomach. That want still remains, however small. He wants to let his legs fall apart, wants to lie there naked and be touched.

“It’s not,” Tim chokes. “I lied. I dreamt—I wanted—“

               He wants to curl up in shame. How could he dream of another man while in Kon’s bed? When he hasn’t even with Kon? To want Kon to touch him and make him forget?

               “I expected it,” Kon interrupts. He smiles wryly.

               “You did?” Tim can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. Because he didn’t even imagine this. That he could remember good things about Ra’s. But Kon is wiser, knows more than he lets on.

               “Life isn’t so black and white.”

               It’s a simple answer. It isn’t enough.

               “Yeah?”

               “Yeah,” Kon says, and his gaze is hot, nearly scorching as he studies Tim. “I’ve never said it, but Luther isn’t so bad. Paid me a visit once. Still evil and bald, seriously bald, but he wasn’t so bad. Most people aren’t.”

               “I see,” Tim says as evenly as he can. And as if he guesses Tim’s next thought, Kon continues.

               “You can be so stubborn sometimes, you know. You get all stuck in your head up here.”

               He lightly taps a finger against Tim’s forehead.

               “I do not,” Tim objects, and just like that. It’s easy. Easy to breathe again, easy to think.

“You do,” Kon laughs. Taps his finger on Tim’s forehead again. “You really do.”

Tim huffs and burrows himself deeper into the mattress. Then, he tugs at Kon. Drags him in till Kon’s weight nearly crushes him. Kon is solid and warm.

               “Please,” Tim prompts, and Kon understands. Holds Tim tight, wrap his TTK around them both securely. The good memories are worse than the nightmares, but Tim doesn’t say it. He feels the want seep away, and he inhales deep. Takes in Kon’s scent and that smell of sunshine. Tim’s safe. The want disappears.

               Kon hums a soft sweet tune, turns them around so Tim’s on top. He strokes Tim’s hair, a motion repetitive and soothing. Not like Ra’s’ but still good. Tim is glad, and they sleep.

 


	15. Drabble: Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something out of the Verse that doesn't exist quite anywhere yet.

Tim watched as a servant brought in trays of delicious looking cookies, pastries and petit fours. The man spread them out onto the table, accenting the main centerpiece: the tea. Ra’s looked on, in approval, and when the man left Ra’s gestured to the tea.

“Pour the tea, Timothy.”

Tim scowled, hands clenching at the velvety smooth fabric of his skirt. “I am aware I am a female now, but I refuse to act like one. Pour your own damn tea.”

Instead of making a comment about Tim’s feminine like qualities, Ra’s went quite still. The elder man was also quiet, and he was staring at Tim, almost in disbelief. It alarmed Tim, and he unclenched his hands, preparing to bolt for the door if necessary.

“What? You finally realized that I am not a female?” Tim asked. “And you have made a horrible mistake?”

That broke Ra’s out of his reverie, and then he was smiling. It unnerved Tim.

“No,” Ra’s said. “You will never be a mistake.”

He tugged up the sleeve of his coat, hand reaching over for the tea. He poured it into Tim’s cup, steam rising and the delicate scent wafted to Tim’s nose. Then, he poured for himself. “You merely reminded me of something from long ago.”

“Really now?” And Tim wrapped his hands around the cup. It was hot, warming Tim’s hands, but he didn’t drink it.

“Yes,” Ra’s nodded. “You remind me of…my  _first_  wife just then.”

“Lovely,” Tim said dryly. He wondered if Ra’s poisoned it. There was just the faintest glimmer of green in his cup. Tim blinked, unsure and looked at Ra’s. Ra’s was calmly sipping his tea, and that didn’t make Tim feel any better. He tilted his cup, curious…

The cup crashed to the floor, shattering in a splash of heated liquid and porcelain bits. His eyes immediately flashed to Ra’s who was sitting, unperturbed, still calmly sipping his tea. Then, Ra’s set down his cup with a light clink, remarking, “I liked that cup.”

“You put something in my tea,” Tim fired back. He crossed his arms. “How am I supposed to react?”

“By asking me and not destroying one of my favorite tea set.”

Tim snorted. “Like you would answer.”

Ra’s frowned. “I have told you, where you are concern, I will answer. Within in reason.”

Ra’s stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I would not poison the mother of my child. Besides, I am drinking the tea as well.”

“I am not bearing your child.”

“You will,” Ra’s said. “It’s only a matter of time.” Before you succumb to my will was left unsaid. Tim chucked the teapot at him.


	16. Drabble: Samarah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For stolidity who requested Tim interaction with his guards in Metamorphosis. I don’t know…it just went off on a weird tangent. I hope this was still okay, anyway. This is set when Tim gets his period for the third time (or to him the second time because this time he’s conscious). And while he does probably know how to deal with periods, I still think it takes time for him to adjust.
> 
> @Mistressarachne: I seriously can't help but write about the female menstrual cycle in the verse ever since you brought up that question. In a good way though. But yeah...I wonder if it makes this verse boring if I write about it so much.
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to fweeble and stinajy for looking this over. *huggles*

“You’re bleeding,” and Tim’s attention was drawn down. Down to the blue skirt he wore. Down to the area where a penis should have been. Then he felt the stickiness. Felt the wetness there, felt the back of his skirt and knew he was bleeding as the voice pronounced. He was bleeding as a female and not from a cut and he stood there, processing. Trying to make sense of blood from a non-wound. From a non-injury. That it was natural.

Then he was being tugged and shoved to the bathroom. Ordered to strip. To get out of that skirt with the dark spreading stain and the underwear that was red, red, red. He did. Tim stripped. Pulled on the clean underwear shoved at him and pressed a pad down on it. Pulled on the skirt—this one was black, to hide accidents—and washed his hands. Scrubbed his fingers free of blood. Then, Tim realized his fingers shook in the water. Realized that there was a pain deepening and spreading in his lower abdomen. He hadn’t noticed it before.

That no-fuss voice that directed him clicked a tongue in annoyance.

“Hopeless,” the voice muttered. And a pill was shoved into his hand along with a glass of water. He stared at it.

“It’s not going to kill you,” the voice said in exasperation. Tim hesitated and he gulped the pill down, gulped the water down but it only made his stomach feel heavy.

“Thanks,” Tim said. When he managed to calm down and steady himself, he looked. Really looked at the girl who was helping him. Because he rarely spoke with any of Ra’s’ servants. And it surprised him when the girl tsk-ed suddenly.

“You should not be so stupid. You are a disgrace to women.”

And Tim stared. Incredulous at this girl. Her olive complexion was without blemishes and her mouth in a frown.

“I’m sorry?” Tim asked, confused. Ra's had a servant like this? And the girl tsk-ed again.

“Next time you feel as if something is dripping or wet, go and lay down a pad.”

“Forgive me.” And Tim’s voice was caustic. At being told off by a servant. By someone who didn't know the difficulty. “I’m not used to being female.”

“I know,” the girl huffed, words blunt and short. “And you are supposed to bear Ra’s’ heir.”

“Who are you?” He asked, asked because he was curious and he hadn't spoken to anyone in so long besides Ra's and the whispering to Kon.

The girl tapped a saif hanging from the belt around her waist.

“Your guard and apparently your servant now,” the girl sniffed. She whisked Tim back to the room. For a tray with tea and biscuits.

“He doesn’t trust the men to watch you,” she added as she pushed Tim into a seat.

“Oh,” Tim said, blinking at her words. “What’s your name?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” Because Tim was starved for company besides Ra’s. Beside the words in his own head and the crazed muttering to Kon.

“Samarah.”

And Tim was fond of her at that moment, would have grown fond of her.

“I’ve reassigned Samarah,” Ra’s informed him. “Your affections will belong to me and only me.”


	17. Drabble: How to?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim explores his female body out of his own free will.

Tim bit his lips, bit down on it hard. He was…and Kon was…

He breathed in slowly and tried to concentrate on what he was feeling against his skin. Because he was horny and needy and if he was a male, it would be so much easier. He knew what to do. Just stroke and this was entirely different.

How did one go about?

And Tim brushed over his nipple, felt it harden as he pinched and rolled it between his fingers. He closed his eyes. Yeah, he could do this and his other hand wandered down, down underneath pajama pants and lightly traced down where his happy trail used to be.


	18. Extra: Alt. Timeline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim gives in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end game of this is obviously TimKon, but I still love Ra'sTim. So, this is an alternative timeline where Ra's and Tim's relationship take a different turn. It follows after the Songbird chapter.
> 
> Also, for those of you who don't follow me on tumblr, I do intend to finish this fic next year and put it as part of a book for a giveaway. Next month, I will be having a TimKon fanfic book giveaway. :)
> 
> By the way, I've reordered the chapters so all the drabbles and extra are at the end instead for easier reading purposes. So, any updates will not be on the last chapter.

“Ah,” Ra’s said as if he was surprised. As if he didn’t know very what he had done. “You cannot speak, can you?”

                Tim hissed, air whistling but still no words came. It wasn’t enough that Ra’s had taken away his body, had taken away his identity. He had taken Tim’s voice too.

                “It is a shame,” Ra’s went on. “I am very fond of your sound as you should know.”

                He touched Tim’s cheek, making Tim flinch from both how cold and how repulsive that hand was on his skin. Air whistled again, and Tim still couldn’t make his anger known. Could only glare at Ra’s and tried to convey with his eyes that he hated this.

                “Yes,” Ra’s said softly. “Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

                And his touch turned heated. Possessive. Tim tried to draw back, but Ra’s followed and pressed him into the wall. Pressed him with his warmth and his scent. Made Tim heady and dizzy with it.

                “I know you speak to him. That you ask him to save you, but do you think he really wants you?”

                Ra’s’ eyes were too convincing in the light, in this closeness that slowly robbed Tim of his senses. Tim shook his head, tried to remember that he believed everything in Kon. That Kon would come and wouldn’t mind that Tim was like this. Even if he never told him, whispered it into the night that he was changed.

                “Look at me,” Ra’s said and Tim looked despite himself. Looked into those eyes and felt himself wanting. Ra’s curled his fingers into Tim’s long locks, tangled them in the strands that always smelt of jasmine these days.

                “Oh, Timothy,” Ra’s said in awe, almost breathless. Tim opened his mouth to respond, even if all he had were wordless noises, but Ra’s kissed him. Slipped in his tongue and explored just how he had taken Tim’s voice away. It was hot. It was good. Odd without his tongue, without a way to stop Ra’s from doing whatever he liked and—

                It was wrong.

Tim pushed, but he was weak against Ra’s. Weak in this form and weak from months of captivity. But Ra’s let him go, let Tim dragged his mouth away from Ra’s and heaved for air. For something to drive out the doubt and his helplessness. Ra’s chuckled, and Tim felt his face flushed. Turned red to match his well kissed lips.

“Hm,” Tim sounded and wished he could speak. Wished he could tell Ra’s to go. Leave and never come back. Ra’s didn’t.

                “Will you not learn your place here by my side?” Ra’s asked. Tim held his hands up, held them to the front of Ra’s chest, finger splayed on that silken shirt in answer. He had no strength to fight Ra’s, but he could do this. And Tim pushed, put all of his weight into his hands. To put in the heavy set “no” that he could not voice.

                “You will,” Ra’s said in return, his form not budged in the slightest by Tim’s efforts, and his own hands closed down onto Tim’s thin wrists. It was a simple tug to send Tim sprawling against Ra’s. To pull him down further into the richness that was Ra’s.

“Hm-mm,” Tim uttered, unable to keep that needy whine inside. It only encouraged Ra’s to continue. Tim bit down on his bottom lip as Ra’s kissed his neck, kissed and kissed till he laid a trail of them down to collarbone. He whimpered at a particularly hard nip.

                “Beautiful,” Ra’s murmured against the pulse in Tim’s throat, against the beat of his heart. “You are so lovely even without your words.”

                And then he was nosing his way down Tim’s breasts, starting fires and sending sparks all along Tim’s nerves. Tim clutched Ra’s’ shirt. Held onto him tightly. Spread his legs and allowed Ra’s to put his leg there for him to rut upon desperately. Because Tim needed and needed so much, the ache below and craving for more.

                It wasn’t enough, and Ra’s knew it.

                “Tell me,” Ra’s said, stopping and leaving Tim wanting. “I showed you pleasure once, showed the wonder of your form. Do you think you could accept it now?”

                His voice was so low, so dark and full of promises.

                “Do you wished to be filled?”


	19. Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She comes, and Tim can move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to finish off this verse this year (I know, I keep saying it). Anyway, when I do, I will probably go back and edit everything up and put a cleaner version on up on AO3.

Tomorrow, Tim breathes. It’s tomorrow. He’s going to get the pacemaker out, and he will live his life. He has to. He can’t let it hang over him forever, and no one else will let him either.

He paces in one of the empty rooms in the manor. Bruce has a lot of them, and he needs to get rid of this restless energy. He wishes Kon was here. The door creaks open, and Tim thinks—

She’s standing there.

It’s a surprise, and Tim stares at her for long minutes. He isn’t quite aware of the hunger in his eyes. He only knows that he needs her. She was…is so very important to him. Stephanie Brown had always been a big part of his life, and it hasn’t changed. Not even when they broke up.

“Tim,” she says. “Hi.”

It’s awkward. Uncomfortable, but Tim doesn’t care. He’s marveling at the fact that she is here. But what comes out is mean. Harsh.

“What are you doing here?”

Steph flinches. She looks at him, and Tim wants to apologize. He didn’t mean it, but he never knew how to say things. He knows he’s an ass, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

“I wanted…to make sure you’re okay, stupid!”

Tim laughs. Of all the things Steph could have said it was that. She laughs too, and Tim lets her draw near. Pull them into a hug so tight it leaves him breathless and reeling. He’s missed this so much. The scent of her hair and how she feels just right against him.

Except it isn’t anymore. His breasts are pushed against hers. It’s weird. It’s strange, and he hangs on tight. He doesn’t want to lose her, not when she’s here. Thankfully, she doesn’t say a word about it.

“I miss you,” he mumbles into her neck because she is just that tiny bit taller than him.

“Miss you too.”

He relaxes into her arms. Feels the craziness in him goes away, drops just because it’s her.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“No, I’m sorry.” He hugs her, clings to her. “I didn’t ask for this, and I just—“

“I know.” Steph shushes him, pets his hair as if it was the short locks she was used to stroking instead of the length he has now. “So, tell me what happens tomorrow?”

Tim tells her. He can move forward.


End file.
